The Lame Shall Enter First
by boonadducious
Summary: AU Supernatural Story with HW strong friendship. House always thought his pain was his greatest enemy, until a nightmare triggered the greatest battle of his life.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Lame Shall Enter First  
**Author**: Boonaducious, Ashley, whatever you wanna call me.  
**Rating**: R, for violence and the occasional bad word  
**Spoilers**: None that I can think of. I'm timing this right after the Tritter arc, though.  
**Pairing**: H/W Friendship; Wilson/OC  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own House MD or any of the characters within. Those are David Shore's toys, not mine. Believe me, if I were a writer for House, I would spend my time bragging about my genius rather than sharing fanfic. Also, the title comes from the Flannery O'Connor short story of the same name, so I don't own that either.  
**Warnings**: AU supernatural story; horror elements; a Jesus Freak author; other things I will mention later (If anyone thinks I should add anymore warnings, let me know)  
**Summery**: House never usually had nightmares. His dreams were vivid, sometimes even emotionally painful, but the aging doctor never considered them truly scary…until now.  
**A/N**: Okay, this is my first foray into the House fandom after a few years of writing elsewhere, so I hope I make a good first impression. This is an AU story that will have a lot of supernatural elements. I guess you could call it a horror story, even though I'm sure you've all read stuff more scary than this. Hopefully after this I'll write more normal House stories, but this plot bunny just would not let go, and as a poor college student, I'm way too busy for all the medical research at the moment, so here I am. Reviews are my anti-drug, as well as my muse. Please indulge me.

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House never usually had nightmares. His dreams were vivid, sometimes even painful, but the aging doctor never considered them truly scary.

This particular night, House's body seemed tighter than usual as he slipped into the world of his dreams. The pattern seemed consistent enough. He "woke up" and looked around the bedroom of his "dream house" as he liked to call it, which was far bigger than his apartment and contained some very psychedelic colors. Since his delirious mind never noticed anything unusual about the changes in his home, it never occurred to him this place was not real. Only on a few occasions when his brain was clearer was he able to determine the true differences between "dream house" and "real grubby apartment".

Walking on two healthy legs through the ten-foot-tall door, he stepped into the spacious living room with a full-sized grand piano in the corner and a big screen plasma TV plastered to the wall. There was also a small spiral staircase in the middle of the space that led to the mysterious attic he didn't seem to notice until recently. He remembered several trips up there to look at the interchanging secrets that lurked within. Sometimes it contained a stash of motorcycles, others it held a dance floor that looked suspiciously like his high school gym, and once he came into a room he later called "Tritter and Vogler's Torture Chamber". Unfortunately, House was not going to venture into that strange room tonight. Rather, he was going to attend to a rather loud knock coming from his front door.

THUMP THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP THUMP.

The rhythmic knocking was repetitive enough that House knew it was going to get on his nerves if it kept up. This was different than all of the other knocks that had graced his front door. He remembered the last time he had a guest. Carmen Electra was there when he opened the door, dressed in a tight one-piece bathing suit with the words "Baywatch Thespian" plastered on the front in bright yellow. She did not have the suit on for long afterwards. Her knock was more of a slow, seductive tapping that alerted the man to the good time that would follow. House could only imagine what would be waiting for him this time, especially since this knock did not strike him as welcoming at all.

House was not even a yard away from the door when it was pulled from its hinges in a loud crash. On the other side stood a black creature so frightening that House could not react to it. He was in utter shock. He figured he would have reacted differently if he had been awake, mostly because his reason usually outweighed his curiosity in the real world.

The monster was a lanky winged thing that supported itself on all-fours, but would probably be over 12 feet tall on its hind legs alone. Its face contained two large beady white eyes that resembled pearls embedded in its face. There were also two large horns curling around where its ears should be and two incisors sticking out of its open mouth that were long enough so be scratching the floor. Tattered bat-like wings were erupting from its back, which seemed to show off how thin the creature was due to the very visible vertebrae. The feet of a wolf and a long, scaly tail topped off the monster whose black skin and awful stench made him seem…wait a minute. Stench? This is a dream. You are not supposed to smell in your dreams, are you?

House prided himself on the fact that not even the stupidity of sleep could keep his mind at bay. However, this was becoming something beyond the realm of possibility. He could smell the burnt odor of sulfur and brimstone coming off of this thing, and he could feel the heat emanating off him, like he had some sort of astronomical fever. No matter how much he denied it in his own circumstance, the man knew very well what kind of tricks the mind could play. However, the further assault on his senses seemed to breach that realm. As he began to feel the monster's breath, which came out as a yellow vapor, against his face, he suddenly realized frozen stance he had adopted in past dreams did not seem like a good idea.

Within seconds of the creature's rude entrance, House saw what looked to be his equivalent of a smile, which looked like it breathing harder and showing all of its razor-sharp teeth. House finally knew what this thing's face reminded him of. The Humpback Angler, one of those awful-looking fish that resided deep in the photic zone of the ocean (thank you high school marine bio). It was one of the first pictures House can remember where he actually flinched looking at it. Now he looked back on it and wondered why he even thought twice. There were much scarier things out there.

The smile had convinced House now was the time to make a break for it, but before he could even move a couple of feet, the creature pounced. He did not even look back to investigate the horrible sounds of wood being crushed and belongings being flattened, even though they did seem to erode his hope of getting away.

House had made only a small amount of distance (granted more he could have made while awake) when he was finally pushed onto the ground by the thing's large hand. The man shuddered as he felt the long stick-like fingers lightly stroke across his back and through his hair. He did not what to make of this strange gesture, but all he wanted to do was yell at this thing to stop trying to feel him up. Unfortunately, the muteness he experienced during some of the worst night mares of his youth returned to him, and he could only manage breathy gasps of terror. The monster seemed to get the message anyway. He did stop the disturbing strokes, but House almost wanted them back once the thing's long talons dug into the skin of his back.

The man finally found his voice as he cried out in reaction to a very real pain coursing through his body. Pure fear had now consumed him and he was at the brink of tears at the thought of what this monster would do to him. He was anticipating being torn apart once the dagger-like talons fully immersed themselves in his skin.

After what seemed like hours, the long claws stopped digging into him. This did not alleviate the pain, but House was relieved since the talons were not near deep enough to rip him in half as he had feared, or at least that was what it felt like. At this point he was almost laughing at himself. He was in a situation that frightened him to the point of having a doubled heart rate, yet he was still weighing the situation analytically. What the hell was wrong with him? He is going to die making the same mistakes he had his entire life. He used too much head and no heart. It could have been because of his dad, or Stacy, or maybe just genes, but…God, he was doing it again!

Because of his thoughts, he did not notice what felt like a tongue sliding over his right thigh. Only when the wetness began to burn his skin did he realize the creature was licking the permanently injured muscle. He tried to look back to see exactly what this thing's tongue was doing to him, but his neck refused to move due to immense pain. It's saliva must have had acidic tendencies, because it almost felt like his skin was being eaten away.

Suddenly, the licking stopped, and House felt the creature dig its teeth into the scarred thigh as easily as a fork through cake.

Not even the cries of death could have rivaled his pain-filled screams


	2. Chapter 2

"AAAAAHHHH" House hollered as he threw himself foreword to sit up in his bed. 

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he registered the horrible encounter he had just witnessed was just a dream, but the realization took a backseat to the blinding pain he was feeling from his leg. It was much worse than it usually was when it woke him up in the middle of the night begging for more Vicodin. This was almost as if someone had jabbed a knife right in the bull's eye of his scar. Every movement seemed to hurt. Even the massage he automatically preformed on the mangled muscle could not be done. His arm would not cooperate. All he could do was sit and pray to whatever was up there that his agony would not last long. His prayers were in vain, however, since the pain seemed to be getting worse the longer he sat on the bed. Due to his eyes that were squeezed shut, he could not notice how the room was suddenly filling with light and a hand grabbing his shoulder.

"Wilson…" House gasped after finally acknowledging the touch. "P-pills."

The touch immediately ceased and House hoped (he'd given up praying by now) that his friend would obey his command rather than trying to give him some Tylenol or another useless drug. However, Wilson came and put a cup of water to lips followed by his small, white life-line. After a few minutes, the pain finally quelled to only a minor agony, and he was finally able to pry open his eyes, lay back, and breathe normally. He then turned his head to look at Wilson, bed-head and all, sitting up with his left arm over his eyes.

"Thanks," House said in an almost whisper.

"No problem," Wilson huffed, seeming almost as out of breath as his friend. "You scared the shit out of me, you know that?"

House simply nodded and smiled. "Now I'm almost glad you're such a lonely recluse and need my couch." House wanted to say more, particularly more words that appear by "thank you" in a thesaurus, but stopped. He was dangerously close to expressing too much gratitude, which was something he seemed almost physically averted to doing as of late.

"You know there are plenty of people I could date," Wilson groaned, clearly annoyed. "I just choose not to because I have to use all my social energy to make up for your lack thereof."

"Nah, I think it's because you've gone celibate. Not that I'm surprised. I had a feeling you'd go from Jew to Christian when you waited two months to have sex with Julie."

"Some people are slower than others at that kind of stuff, House. Not all of us shack up right after the first date."

"Sure, turn it around on me. Wonderful strategy, if we were in the fifth grade"

Wilson smiled slightly. "What does my sex life have to do with me being here anyway? I moved in with you because government workers needed my hotel room."

"If you would just call that new nurse in your department, you could have slept in her apartment."

"Are you talking about the one you're frighteningly obsessed with?"

"It's called professional interest, and no. Then again, I'm pretty sure she hasn't had sex at all, so she might know a nerd support group or something."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Whatever, House. Besides, she lives with two other nurses who seem to have very high school crushes on me. Even if we were sleeping together, it would be…weird."

House smiled again as the blissful high began to take full effect. "Yeah, three giggly nurses hanging all over you, telling you about their hopes, their dreams, how they lost their virginity…"

"God, House," Wilson laughed. "Are you that obsessed with sex?"

"Hey, you should talk, especially since you know exactly who all of your nurses live with."

"Bastard."

"Man-whore."

A few minutes of silence followed. House was trying to think of something funny, smart, and pointless to say because he knew that silence always preceded serious conversation. However, before a quip came to him, Wilson finally said, "I've never seen you in that much pain before."

"It's fine," House sighed.

"You know, if you say you're fine one more time, I'm going to strangle something."

"Please let it be Chase. That would be fun to watch."

"House!"

"Sorry, forgot we were in 'adult conversation mode.' Please continue."

Wilson sighed before saying, "First I hear you screaming in your sleep, with huffing and puffing to boot, then I hear you wailing in agony…"

"Good literary term, James," House said in a mock English accent.

"House! This is serious! I'm worried about you."

"You're always worried about me."

At that statement, Wilson simply stared at him. House rubbed his face with his hand in frustration of his friend's endless propensity to care, and even greater propensity to dig into him with his stares.

"Yeah, Jimmy. My leg hurt, just like it has every single day for the past seven years. Nothing to call the New York Times about. It's been worse before."

"Yeah, during your actual infarction." Wilson countered. "You looked like somebody had ripped the damn thing off and then used Tabasco sauce as an antibiotic, and that's just what I got from your face. This is different than all of the other times, and you know it."

"Uh, you weren't even there for the infarction," House said in the most cutting tone he could manage. "And obviously you were asleep during physio, or when I fell down the stairs the first time, or when I…"

"Those were different, House! Those were brought on by outside factors. This time, all you were doing was sleeping!"

The man had a point there. House hated when he did that, but no matter how good the Wilson's points were, he always fought to the bitter end.

"I might've slept on it wrong or something, or I might be having muscle spasms…"

"What were you dreaming about, House?" Wilson said, seemingly out of the blue.

"What does that have to do anything?" Before Wilson could answer, House continued, "Oh, wait. Silly me. In your ever deepening quest to psychoanalyze me, you have now moved on to dream interpretation. What will appease you, Jimmy? Maybe I dreamed I was in the middle of a tornado tearing up my house which symbolizes either my quest for self-destruction or unresolved issues stemming from my first viewing of _The Wizard of Oz_…"

"…House…"

"Or maybe I dreamed of…"

"I'm going back to sleep!" Wilson grunted, clearly too tired to deal with this anymore. "But we _are _talking about this tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, Jimbo."

"Please don't call me that," Wilson groaned before pushing himself off the bed and dragging his feet toward the open door.

"G'night Wilson," House sing-songed, in his best June Cleaver impression.

"Goodnight, House," Wilson moaned, focusing on the goal that was his couch and little else.

As he heard the door shut and Wilson's soft footsteps sulking back to the couch, House decided to inspect the scar and make sure he did not unconsciously claw at it in his sleep. Also, he would never admit it, but with Wilson gone, the dark was making him nervous.

He reached over to the bedside table and clicked on his lamp before slipping the waistband of his flannel pajama bottoms down to his knees. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light and he got a good look, his heart felt like it dropped to his stomach.

In an arch-shape around his scar, there was a line of circular bruises, arranged in a manner that made them look exactly like bite-marks.


	3. Chapter 3

House, through brilliant maneuvering and perfect knowledge of Wilson's morning routine, managed to avoid conversation with the other man until lunch. He would have gone even longer if he had not been cornered in the cafeteria by Wilson who, by process of cane-grabbing, made him stay at his table and hear him out. 

"House, I know you want me to lay off, but this is ridiculous."

"What I want has never stopped you before," House said, staring at the TV in the corner.

"Have you looked in a mirror this morning?"

"Mirrors are for wimps."

Wilson sat in the chair across from House, slamming his tray down on the table to make the other man flinch.

"Look, I feel fine," House said, almost groaning. "I am 47 years old, you know. Ugliness kind of comes when the years pile up."

"Is this about your last patient?" Wilson asked, ignoring House's lame excuse.

"A homeless kid with Lupus who died of anaphylactic shock. Boo-hoo. Runaways die every day and I don't lose sleep over them. I don't know why you keep bringing that up."

"Because I think it might be affecting you, especially since his death was so mysterious. All of this started the other day when he died."

"What do you mean by 'all of this'," House said before taking a slow bite of his burger.

"Oh, let me think," Wilson said sarcastically.

House wanted to retort, but was interrupted when he noticed a familiar face getting food with a couple of other women. Wilson noticed House's distraction and turned his head to investigate.

"Oh no," he groaned as he spotted the object of House's stare. "House, don't do anything. Please, for once, leave Lucy alone."

"Don't worry, Jimmy. She's used to it by now. If she were as normal as you say, she'll be fine."

Wilson put his face in his hands and let out an audible groan. "Now I'm convinced. You were emotionally stunted at 17."

The medium-sized young woman with brown hair and aquamarine scrubs was walking and talking with a few other nurses while carrying her empty tray. Even though she did seem to know House was there, she was trying her best to ignore him and carry on with her companions.

As soon as the trio got within a close enough proximity to their table, House shouted, "I thought you nurses had your own cafeteria to go to."

Lucy gave the man a confused look, trying to hide her worry that he was telling the truth.

"Didn't you use that little joke last week?" said the Asian looking girl who was with her.

"It's not a joke, it's a fact. Hospitals still think 'separate but equal' is constitutional, you know."

"Did you get any sleep last night, Doc?" said the other girl who seemed to be shielding Lucy. "You look like Death Incarnate."

"My words exactly." Wilson confidently said. "He had a nightmare."

House furrowed his brow and gave Wilson an "I'm gonna kill you" look before turning his attention back to Lucy.

"Aww," Lucy said in a babyish voice, trying to push past her friends. "Are there monsters in wittle Gweg's cwoset?"

House brought an open hand down to the table with a bang, one that startled Wilson and made Lucy nearly jump out of her skin.

"I had a creepy dream and when I woke up, my leg hurt," House said with a very forced calm in his voice. "Like I told Wilson, it's no big deal." The last three words came out of his mouth very slowly, as he began to stare down Lucy's gray eyes. "I'm pretty sure there is a special place in hell for people who make fun of cripples."

"Hey, I was just asking," Lucy said nervously before giving an "I'm okay" nod to the other girls. "I have to get back to work. I'll see you guys later."

After she pushed through the crowd and scampered off in the direction of the exit, the two nurses gave the older doctor icy stares.

"What? Is it wrong for me to get upset when people offend me?"

"Asshole," said the Asian nurse before they both ran off in the direction Lucy fled. After Wilson saw them leave, he turned to House and gave him an even icier glare.

"House, you didn't have to…"

"Your new nurse has Asperger's Syndrome," House interrupted.

Wilson could not help rub his face in frustration. "Not this again. She does not look like she has AS."

"Everybody acts. You know that Jimmy."

"I thought everybody lied."

"Acting and lying are one and the same, especially when you have a mental deficit. Besides, she wouldn't be able to lie for fear of God striking her down, so she has to act."

Wilson rolled his eyes before deciding to humor the man "What did you see her do this time?"

"It was the way she flinched when I banged the table. She is definitely more sensitive to loud noises than you and me."

Wilson started shaking his head. "You scared the crap out of her just to test your theory?"

"She also is failing to tell when I'm messing with her, even though I have done it many many times in the past several weeks. Plus, even when people do get angry they don't run away like they're about to meet the fate of Bambi's mother."

"You are such an ass," Wilson said as he began to gather up his tray. "You're just trying to turn her into one of your puzzles for one of your twisted reasons."

"What do you care about her, anyway?"

"Because if you let yourself, you just might like her. From what I can see she's practically a shy version of you."

"She 'practically' autistic."

Wilson sighed and stuck up a middle finger, slightly shocking the other man.

House would never consider Lucy a knockout, even though he would never say she was ugly. Her olive skin seemed to be immune to acne when seemingly every other nurse in the building had it. Her auburn hair was always tied back in an uncomplicated ponytail, a sign that her hair was not a huge issue in her morning routine. She rarely wore makeup except for a dash of mascara and occasional lip gloss, and she did not wear jewelry, with the exception of studded earrings and the small purity ring on her left ring finger. Her fingers were long (and in House's opinion, perfect for the piano), but the area around her fingernails was red and irritated, probably from a bad habit of chewing the skin. Also, judging from her seemingly endless supply of gum and aptness to knaw on every pen she held in her hand, the chewing habit did not stop with her own body parts.

She was smart, though. Of course, not nearly as smart as him, especially judging from her blank looks in any non-medically-related conversation he saw her engage in. However, she did know her stuff about religion. House's initial disdain for her beliefs gradually turned to something resembling respect as he began to become acquainted her point of view, which was not really different than that of his Presbyterian mother. The difference was she could definitely defend herself logically, and all of his objections did get acceptable answers from her. It was the one thing House had ceased to pick on her about, mostly because he got no pleasure in being shot down or finding a reason to give her respect. House never thought he could respect anyone who was religious and relied on blind faith to support their beliefs, but Lucy did not rely on blind faith. She relied on what she saw as "evidence" of her faith's validity. To House, that was certainly an improvement on most religious people, but he still thought she was crazy. In his opinion, the Ku Klux Klan could also give good evidence for what they believe. It did not mean it was true.

"I'm probably going to go catch up with Lucy so she knows you're not really mad at her." Wilson sighed.

"She shouldn't need you to figure that out," House said.

"Everyone is different, House," Wilson said. "But one thing we all have in common is that we deserve respect."

"Aww. I think I feel a tear coming on." House said while making a few over-exaggerated sniffs.

"Hey, you lay off Lucy, and I'll think about laying off you about the leg."

House sighed, nodded, and started to place his own garbage on Wilson's tray. The younger man sighed before surrendering to his friend's laziness and helping him gather more waste.

"Ow," House said as he jerked back his hand.

"What happened?" Wilson asked, confused. "All I did was brush your hand, unless you've now willed yourself to be _physically_ allergic to human interaction."

House rubbed his hand, lost in his thoughts and completely ignoring Wilson.

"House? Hello?"

"Huh?" House said looking up to meet Wilson's concerned eyes.

"What's the matter?"

House looked back down toward his hand, which was now starting to turn red. It was also beginning to sting, almost as if he had touched a hot kettle rather than his best friend.

"Nothing." He finally said, knowing he was not convincing at all.

"Sure," Wilson sighed, knowing he was not going to get any more out of House right now. "I'm going back to the hotel tonight, but do you want to watch movies or something later?"

"And give you more opportunity to play either Freud or Mr. Rogers? I'll pass."

"Suit yourself." Wilson sighed before walking away from the man whom he was now more worried about than ever.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, miracle of miracles, I posted a new chapter within a day of the last one. However, I received a comment earlier that Lucy was too much of a Mary Sue. Looking back, I had to agree. I usually try to avoid Mary Sues at all costs, mostly because I hate them myself, but sometimes when I'm distracted from writing (which I am now) they just seem to slip through. So, I edited the previous two chapters so Lucy is less Mary-Sueish. I encourage you to take a look at those before you move on. Just as a side note, this is an example of how feedback makes a difference, especially to scatterbrains like me. Moral of the story, keep commenting. You can make a difference! (I'm not an attention-whore, I promise!) :)

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Later in the night, when the halls of the hospital had considerably quieted down, House began to feel what could be compared to a knawing feeling in his thigh as he sat at his desk. His hurt had begun to increase after lunch when he got the strange burn on his hand (which had to be eased with aloe later in the day). Massages did little to ease the ache and if anything, the pain was gradually getting worse. House could not help but worry since this was the same thing that happened this morning, granted on a much larger scale.

_Geeze, dude. Take some more Vicodin already._

House heart jumped at what he heard, which did not seem to come from any fixed point in the room. It sounded like a voice. It felt like a voice. It just…could not have been a voice. No one was here.

"Foreman?" he called as he turned his attention to the door leading to the conference room. "Don't try to steal my mug again."

The voice did not sound too much like Foreman, but it sounded more similar to him than to Chase or to Wilson. It had a low and scratchy hue to it, almost like what a wolf would sound like if it could speak.

_Foreman went home. Remember?_

The second statement from the voice startled House into standing up from his seat suddenly, which he quickly realized was a mistake. As soon as he put a small amount of weight on the damaged leg, a burning fire shot upward and he was forced to let out a scream. The spasm caused the man to lose his center of gravity and fall to the floor. As his right thigh broke his fall, yet another burst of pain shot through and added to the damage the first caused. He was now in such utter agony that the night before had seemed like a cakewalk. Even a movement of the neck caused the pain to intensify. There would be no way he could get up by himself in this condition.

"H-help," House whimpered, even though he knew there would be no point in it. His throat had mysteriously constricted so that only tiny squeaks could be emitted from his lips. Not that there was anyone to hear him anyway. His fellows were long gone. Wilson had left early to move his stuff out of House's apartment. His position behind the desk would make it hard for any passerby to see him. Cuddy had probably assumed he had gone home (which he would have if his leg was well enough to drive his motorcycle). Why was it that people doted on him when he did not want help, but the one time he needed it, no one was there?

_Yeah, life's a bitch, ain't it?_

House jumped again, which sent another shot of pain all through his body.

_I mean, you have to live with pain every day and all you're going to get for it is a shot liver and best friend who will abandon you…in fact, I'm pretty sure he's abandoned you already for that retard chick. I mean, what kind of guy defends some stranger over his best friend? _

"Who the hell are you?" House huffed, still unable to make audible sounds with his vocal chords.

_A friend, _the voice said slowly and almost seductively.

"Isn't that…what all the…slashers say before…they sever various…organs?"

A throaty laugh was all the man got in response.

"You know, that doesn't ease my worries at all."

_Even when you're in dire straits, you make jokes. I love that. Denial is a wonderful thing isn't it?_

"Who. Are. You?" House practically growled, fighting to not succumb to the delirium his pain was causing.

_Okay, since you asked, I'll just cut to the chase. You helped a friend of mine, so I want to return the favor and heal your leg._

"What?"

_Yeah, that was probably a little direct, but you did ask and I figured you would want to know why you're leg is getting worse seemingly out of nowhere._

House was becoming annoyed at how this voice was beginning to sound like a used car salesman.

_Greg, you are a special guy. I know that, as does everyone else. Don't you think special guys deserve everything their heart desires? The girl of their dreams. The ability to walk. Powers beyond mortal imagination._

"Are you doing this to me?" House rasped, unable to think of the logical implications of what he just said.

_Another thing about special people is that, they are usually too stubborn to be persuaded like a normal people, so I have to use…extreme measures. _

"What the hell…"

House could not finish his sentence before another shot of pain coursed through his thigh, eliciting an agonized moan.

_You see, I have the power to take away your pain, which means I also have the power to increase it tenfold._

"Is that so? Then make it stop, you son of a bitch!"

_Completely? Because if I do, then you're basically giving me permission to help you attain my power. It's a crazy process that could take…_

"MAKE IT STOP!!!" House had finally found his voice. Unfortunately, it did not seem like anybody heard him.

_Sorry, you see the stupid Boss man says I have to give you the whole story before I do anything to you. Let me try this another way. Do you want your old pre-infarction life back?_

House's mind cleared just enough to listen to what this voice was saying, but still not enough to reason as to why this was happening. "Y-yes," House whimpered honestly.

_Do you want more influence than you have ever had?_

"What?"

_I'll take that as a yes. Do you want to have the power to heal? To see? To never grow older? To do things humans cannot even…_

"Shut up and just make it stop if you're so powerful!" House said, almost pleading. "I'll do anything! I'll take whatever the hell you're offering, just make it stop!"

_Thanks, you just saved me a lot of time. _

The pain did stop, and few seconds later, everything went black.


End file.
